


gotta stop meeting like this (coffee shop's safer)

by grydo2life



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Mild Language, Minor AU, Phil's an Avenger, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 08:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grydo2life/pseuds/grydo2life
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There are times when Phil Coulson believes that the phrase “fuck my life” was invented exclusively for him. Since joining the Avengers Initiative, those times have increased exponentially.</i>
</p><p>Or, the one where Phil's an Avenger and Clint nearly gets himself killed trying to get into his pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gotta stop meeting like this (coffee shop's safer)

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a [prompt](http://cc-feelsmeme.livejournal.com/1635.html?thread=1379#t1379) at the cc-feelsmeme, asking for Avenger!Coulson and Civilian!Clint.
> 
> Also, I'd like to offer my most sincere thanks to everyone who commented, bookmarked, and offered kudos on my first fic in this pairing/fandom. I was absolutely blown away by the response I got; you guys sure know how to make a girl feel welcome! 
> 
> Enjoy!

There are times when Phil Coulson believes that the phrase “fuck my life” was invented exclusively for him. Since joining the Avengers Initiative, those times have increased exponentially.

“ _Goddamn it_ , Coulson!” Someone barks in his ear. “Watch your six, you’ve got incoming targets!”

Twisting around, he takes aim and fires off three rounds. The first two hit their targets precisely and down them immediately; the third merely grazes past where he’d intended it to be. It’s still enough to send the upsurge scattering away, at least for the time being.

Once he’s more or less clear, he lifts a wrist up and snaps into it, “I don’t need a goddamn backseat driver for this!” 

It’s not something he’d usually do; he’s known for his propensity towards being calm and rational under all circumstances, even when taking fire. It’s sort of his selling point, given his lack of superhuman strength, magical powers, or green-colored temper tantrums. Usually, he’d have a much better grip on his temper, and an even better one on his team.

Usually, he hasn’t had to deal with a half-scale alien invasion, the utter decimation of six city blocks (for which he’ll most likely be handling the paperwork), and a brewing pissing match between Stark and Rogers, all before his morning cup of coffee.

“Sir?” Rogers calls over the channel. “My sector is clear. Heading over to help Hulk, er…” He pauses, apparently close enough to see the damage their green ally has left in his wake, “…clean up.”

“Fine,” Coulson responds. “Stay in contact and radio in if you need support.”

In actuality, it’s not much of an invasion. The aliens in question are more like annoying punchbags than they are an actual threat (provided you ignore the lasers); there’s just a _lot_ of them. The Avengers initially had to split up to cover everything, but it’s finally looking like they’re getting things under control.

And then Stark arrives. “Hey, Coulson,” he calls from where he hovers several yards away. “Your boy is in trouble again.”

Coulson doesn’t scowl at him, but it’s a close thing. “What’s the point of having a codename,” he grouses to himself, feeling grumpy from the lack of caffeine, “if no one ever actually uses it?” And then he adds, to Stark, “And he’s not my boy.”

Stark sounds irritatingly entertained when he replies, “He may as well be, Mr. _Agent_.” Coulson suppresses his grimace. He’d made the mistake of allowing Darcy to pick his call sign when Director Fury had first approached him about joining the Initiative; at the time, he’d assumed he wouldn’t care so long as it was functional.

He regrets it now. 

“Considering the way you two flirt…” Stark is still talking. “And after the look you gave me the last time I tried to help him when you were busy? He may as well have ‘Property of Phil Coulson’ stamped on his ass.” Pause. “Hey, that was the look.”

Coulson snorts derisively and redirects his glare to an alien carcass. “I’d hardly call it flirting.”

“That’s because you’re clueless when it comes to things that don’t threaten the safety of the world.” Stark counters. “You really should just fuck him already. The whole thing was cute at first, but now it’s just getting sad. Even Steve has noticed, and you know how _he_ can be.”

“I heard that.” Rogers’ voice abruptly cuts in; he sounds flustered. “Tony, stop antagonizing Agent Coulson.”

Stark makes a rude noise in reply. Coulson can tell he’s got a smirk on under the helmet, and wonders whether or not a point blank shot in the face might wipe it off. “Get back to work, Stark.”

“And where are you going?”

“To get my boy.”

\---

His boy’s name is actually Clint, and the only reason Coulson knows that is because _Clint_ is utterly incapable of not getting himself into trouble at least once a week and Coulson got rather sick of having to refer to him as ‘that one moronic civilian who has no self-preservation skills’ all the time.

Right now is actually a rather brilliant example, in fact, because the first thing Coulson sees when he rounds the corner is Clint, hiding behind an overturned car as lasers fly by his head (rather than running away like a normal, sensible person might). And he’s _laughing_.

“Hi Phil!” He calls when he catches sight of the older man. He waves, too, but by that point the aliens have realized Coulson is there and now _he_ has to make a dive for the car too.

Clint grins at him when they end up side by side, which is aggravating all on its own, so when he drawls, casually, “Fancy meeting you here,” Coulson thinks he’s perfectly justified in sending the younger man his fiercest _I’m an agent of SHIELD and an Avenger don’t with fuck me_ glare.

“Why is it,” he growls, ducking just before something hot slides by his head, “that whenever there is any kind of trouble in this city, I always find _you_ right in the middle of it?”

Clint laughs. “Well, how else am I going to get you to come rescue me?”

If he wasn’t in the middle of trying not to die, Coulson might roll his eyes at that. As much as he likes to deny it, Clint’s never exactly been all that subtle when it comes to his interest in Coulson. Coulson had kind of hoped that ignoring it would discourage him, but it turns out he’s not really all that _good_ at ignoring Clint.

Clint, unfortunately, seems to have realized this. 

“So,” he says lightly, like they’re not in the middle of a firefight. Coulson would point out that they _are_ if he thought it would do any good. “Do you maybe want to get some coffee sometime?”

Of all the things Coulson is expecting to come out of his mouth, that is not one of them. It’s not jarring enough that it throws off his aim, and he gives no indication of being evenly remotely startled, but inside, everything sort of freezes, and for half a second he’s left running on autopilot. “Excuse me?”

“Coffee.” Clint waves a hand. “It’s a dark liquid full of caffeine.” He squints at Coulson. “Or maybe tea. You look a little jittery today.”

“What—“ Coulson shrinks down just in time to avoid having his ear blasted off and tries to shake off the ringing sensation left behind. He’s pretty sure at least some of the disorientation he’s feeling is Clint’s fault. “Could we do this later, please?” 

“No!” Clint looks downright appalled. “If I let you get away, you’ll disappear without giving me an answer. And then I’ll just have to go out and put myself in mortal danger all over again.”

By all accounts, that admission probably should be more surprising than it actually is. “I knew you were doing it on purpose,” Coulson grumbles to himself, irritated and a little bit angry. He’s rather alarmed to find that the source of his frustration is not from having his time constantly wasted, but from the idea of Clint constantly putting himself in danger just to get Coulson’s attention. 

Clint laughs, only this time it dies down quickly. “Yeah, well. It’s not like I had your number or anything.”

Coulson isn’t sure if it’s his training or simply the fact that he knows Clint better than he likes to admit, but he can hear the masked insecurity there. Clint is _nervous_ , and it startles Coulson to find that he is equal parts bothered and flattered by it. Clint offers him a smile with just the barest flicker of hesitance in it, and it’s only when Coulson catches himself thinking that it’s sort of endearing that he realizes how utterly and completely screwed he really is.

“So… coffee?”

There’s a sudden explosion from somewhere on the other side of the car that shakes the nearby buildings violently and sets off a few car alarms, and Coulson thinks, not for the first time, that his life is absolutely _insane_. 

But really, it’s not like he has anything to lose, per se.

“Assuming we don’t die?” He says finally, making a split-second decision that he hopes he won’t regret. “Let’s make it dinner instead.”

The smile he gets in response is almost worth all the times he’s had to drop whatever he was doing and rush in to rescue the younger man.

The kiss that follows definitely is.


End file.
